


Sorcerer's Estate

by EntreNous



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alcohol, Dark, Dubious Consent, M/M, Magic, Memory Alteration, Non-Consensual Drug Use, The Initiative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-15
Updated: 2005-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:12:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I’m not that sort of magician,” Ethan said. “Sleight of hand, trick of the eye -- oh no. Rather, I specialize in <i>actually</i> making things happen.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sorcerer's Estate

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place between "Doomed" and "A New Man" Some fairly specific canon references to s4 events. In terms of consent issues, to me this falls (however uneasily) between non-con and dub-con, but I've ticked the rape/non-con warning just to be overcautious for anyone wishing to avoid such themes.

Xander stared into his beer glumly. What was the use, he asked himself, of sitting at an actual bar, getting served no less, if he was going to spoil it all by feeling blue? He should be cheerful that his fake ID had actually worked. But somehow the sorry-for-himself feeling just kept creeping back in.

He supposed he could blame his no-good mood on his choice of drinking establishment, though he could hardly help the fact that this was the lone establishment in town where he could get a drink. The guys who ran the bar at the Bronze sure as hell weren’t going to serve him. Not when he’d been going there and getting stamped on the hand since he was thirteen years old, and definitely not when they knew his libation of choice as Coke, three cherries, light on the ice. 

The UC Sunnydale campus bar was out ever since the whole Cro-Magnon, Cave-Slayer, Back-to-B.C. beer catastrophe. It was the principle of the thing. No way could he drink in a place where the bartender cursed the patrons with tainted brew. Well, that, and he’d been banned from the joint for not ringing up everyone’s drinks correctly during his stint working there. 

He couldn’t exactly show his face at Willy’s dive. On the one hand, it was pretty likely they’d let him drink whatever he wanted to choke down there. But after he’d seen the working over that Spike had gotten from a night at Willy’s, just for helping out the gang for a little while, he figured his Slayerette status probably guaranteed the ass-whuppin’ of a lifetime. Sure, he got pummeled on a regular basis on patrol. But this night of bending elbows was supposed to be about drowning of the sorrows, not the aggravation of pre-existing aches and pains. 

So he’d somehow stumbled across this place, a faux-British pub with dark wood, green accents, no television, and a bartender who didn’t care that his ID picture made him look like a Tom Selleck wannabe. And now he was getting buzzed from his third (or fourth?) beer – seemed like the makings of a new and improved attitude. Add in the fact that he had, for once, a wad of cash with which to purchase said beer, and he should have felt pretty darn good. 

Of course, the reason that he had said roll of cash was because they’d paid out his last week at the pizza place when they’d fired him for sampling too many slices. So mark in the negative column right there. Then there was the painfully obvious fact that he was drinking alone -- a sure sign that he was well on his way on the path to becoming an alcoholic, based on the pamphlets Willow had supplied him with in middle school after she’d wandered in one Saturday to find his dad passed out on the couch still clutching a bottle of Southern Comfort in his hands. But he was clearly also just lame, because none of his friends wanted to pass this fine Friday evening getting loaded with him.

Buffy had begged off with patrol duty, though Xander suspected that she had more likely scheduled herself in to call Riley’s phone number and hang up whenever he answered. Those two had been stepping gingerly around each other; something about how Buffy had accidentally dislocated Ri’s shoulder during a “friendly tussle”. Of course, they had been going at it -- since when did Buffy use the phrase “friendly tussle” to describe _actual_ tussling? 

And that was enough right there to make him revisit and retroactively reject any fun sex fantasies he’d had involving her. If Riley, commando military type person, got literally bent out of shape from his alone time with the Buffster, what the hell could she do to a Joe average guy like Xander?

Willow hadn’t even returned his message. Sure, she’d probably call tomorrow and leave apologies on his answering machine while he was out looking for a job, but what good did that do him when he needed a drinking buddy for tonight? Of course, if she had shown, she probably would have perched on her stool with too-wide eyes and a nervous grin, blowing his cover for sure. Though when the bartender refilled his pint glass without so much as glancing at him, simply taking another couple of bills from the stack on the bar, he reflected that this place didn’t require a cool attitude or a snappy outfit so much as it called for ready cash to keep the suds a-flowin’.

Anya was out. Out figuratively and literally, though he wasn’t quite sure where she was tonight. What with Spike still an unwelcome guest in his basement, she was keeping her distance. Then for some reason the whole business with the Sacrifice of the Three had really irked her. “Why wasn’t I called?” she had demanded, and Xander’s excuses to her reminded him of the lines he had occasionally gotten during high school, when there had been world-saving afoot and no one had taken the time to phone him. 

Giles, as much as he and Xander had been alphabetizing, patrolling buddies of late, seemed a little overly taken-aback by his near miss in almost not remembering about the Word of Valois. Personally, Xander didn’t think it was so awful that he forgot the jewelry the world-ending demons had coveted was rattling around in his wizardly junk drawer. But Giles seemed bothered enough that he was likely at home sampling his supply of fine Scotch with more enthusiasm than he should have been.

“Now, I would have thought it was a supremely un-American habit to drink alone in a public establishment,” a silky voice at his elbow intoned.

Xander turned and gaped at the source. Slim, dark-haired, British from the accent, knowing smirk, and up to no good look -- “You’re Evan McBain,” he said in shock.

“Ethan _Rayne_ ,” the other man corrected with a grimace.

“Oh . . . right,” Xander said. Why he couldn’t say, but Ethan’s sudden arrival made him feel . . . cheerful. “I was pretty close, though,” he added. He leaned in towards Ethan, feeling his head swim just a bit as he cast his eye over the other man. “Hey. You’re not supposed to be here. You were the one with the chocolate, and the . . . uh . . . ” He paused, trying to recall.

“And the incident at Halloween,” Ethan said in a friendly manner. “As well as that _awful_ unpleasantness surrounding the Mark of Eyghon.”

“Right,” Xander said slowly. His head felt a little more muddled than it should have after three beers. Unless it had been four beers. Definitely four, he decided as Ethan perched on the stool next to him and glanced around the room. Xander rested his weight on his forearm so that he could get a little closer to Ethan for proper threatening posture. “So. You’ve got no right showing your face around these parts, what with your trouble-making and . . . ” The sentence drifted away as he considered a variety of other bad stuff Ethan could have up his sleeve. Nothing he came up with seemed good, though, so he merely tacked on, “No right at _all_.”

“I have as much right to be here as anyone else,” Ethan said. Xander searched his face for traces of annoyance, but he didn’t locate any. More than that -- Ethan looked sort of . . . amused. “Besides, I have some business that brings me to town.”

“Not if Buffy and Giles find out you’re here,” Xander replied, holding a shaky but nonetheless accusing finger in Ethan’s direction. “They’ll beat you up six ways from Sunday when they find you. And believe me, they’ll find you.”

“And why is that?” Ethan asked. He took a sip from a glass that held something even darker than what Xander was drinking.

“Because you’re up to no good,” Xander explained patiently. After cocking his head to the side and listening, he was pretty sure he was not slurring his words together after all, so he went ahead and added an assertive nod. 

Ethan smiled at Xander like he was one of the most charming people he’d ever met. “I can assure you that my business venture won’t affect either of them in the slightest.”

“Oh. Well. Huh. Let’s keep it that way,” Xander said, gesturing with his drink. “Keep it clean,” he added nonsensically before he took a gulp.

“Yes.” Ethan raised a single eloquent finger and the bartender brought him another drink. “And another for my friend here.”

“Not his friend,” Xander said with a huff. When the bartender gave him a bored look, he laughed. “I mean, I’ll take the _drink_.”

“Good lad,” Ethan said approvingly. He picked up Xander’s wad of cash and turned it over two or three times in his hand.

“Don’t make it disappear or something just to show how tricky you are,” Xander said. “That has to last, okay?”

“Oh, I’m not that sort of magician,” Ethan said. “Sleight of hand, trick of the eye -- oh no. Rather, I specialize in _actually_ making things happen.”

“Well, good.” Xander made a show of plunking the bills away from Ethan’s hand and setting them down farther along the counter. 

“Last of the reserves, then?” Ethan asked in a friendly manner, gesturing at the cash. He watched the pint glass as it went to Xander’s lips and then down again.

Xander shook his head, then nodded. “Got fired today.”

“Ah.”

“Over, uh . . . whatchacallit. Staffed. So it wasn’t my fault,” Xander said. “Just seems like not enough people want to order pizzas late at night anymore.” He sighed as the bartender put their drinks down and departed. 

“That is too bad,” Ethan said in a sympathetic voice. He touched Xander briefly on the shoulder. “But a young, handsome, capable man such as yourself can’t have much of a problem finding work.”

“You’d be surprised,” Xander said. “Seems like I’ve cut something of a swath through the unskilled-labor positions in this town recently.”

“And you don’t receive any money from helping your cause of good?” Ethan asked. “Why, I would have thought that Giles would put you on retainer. I’m quite sure he . . . enjoys your company.”

“I do help Giles. A lot,” Xander said thoughtfully.

“I’m sure you do,” Ethan murmured, taking another sip of his drink.

“Be right back,” Xander said as he stood abruptly. He clapped Ethan on the shoulder and stumbled over to the bathroom. Luckily, he found the wall behind the urinal with the palm of his hand just in time to keep from swaying dangerously on his feet.

After he washed his hands, he walked out slowly, feeling lighter all around. So what if Buffy and Willow and Giles and . . . those other people . . . hadn’t come out with him tonight? He was doing fine, great, never been better. And that Ethan guy? Not bad at all, really, once you got to know him. Xander paused, laughing until he had to lean against the wall, catching his breath with a snort. But when he began walking once more he couldn’t remember what it was he’d found so funny. 

“Hey, a new beer,” he said merrily when he had made it back to the bar and carefully hoisted himself onto his stool.

“Yes.” Ethan had a placid expression on his face, but somehow, Xander noticed, the corners of his mouth seemed to be twitching. Probably just a twitchy kind of guy. 

“Clumsy me,” Ethan continued. “I knocked over your last drink after you left, and so took the liberty of ordering you another in your absence.”

“That’s great,” Xander said. “Great,” he repeated halfway through the beer, because he was even thirstier now that he had been before, so thirsty that he finished and was eyeing the bottom of his glass with resentment before he realized he’d even had more to drink. 

“Say,” Ethan said suddenly, putting his hand on Xander’s back and making him jump. “How serendipitous. Here I am, in town on business and in need of assistance, uncertain of where to go to find help with my money making venture. And here you are, in need of work and, fortunately, free to begin any new task of employment that comes your way.” 

Xander dipped his finger into his beer (there was a new beer in front of him) and stirred. “Um. Okay.” 

“Well, don’t you see?” Xander shook his head, and Ethan slid his hand down his back until it rested just above his waistband. “As it happens, I require some help with this job that I’ve undertaken.” When Xander cleared his throat, he hastened to add, “And of course I’d be happy to reimburse you handsomely for your time.”

Ethan’s fingers traced a little pattern on the small of Xander’s back in a friendly sort of a way. Xander ran the tip of his finger around the rim of his glass and thought. “Oh. Like you’d hire me,” he said finally.

Ethan smiled warmly. “Exactly so. What say you to my proposition?” 

Xander laughed out loud. “I’d say if you’re propositioning me, I’m going to need a hell of a lot more beer before there’s any chance of you hearing yes.”

“I really think not,” Ethan muttered under his breath.

“What?” Xander asked in confusion.

“Oh, nothing. Well? Would you like to earn some easy money?”

Xander drained the last of his beer and considered Ethan’s question. “You know,” he finally answered in a serious voice, “I really, really would.”

***

“What’s in the boxes?” Xander asked as he loaded the last one onto the platform of the van. Somehow he’d ended up lifting most of them himself while Ethan consulted some kind of map. Even though Xander had proclaimed how well he knew the streets of Sunnydale a bunch of times, Ethan was really into his map. “They’re not that heavy, you know?” At that point he re-lifted the box and gave it a good shake -- the rattling of what must have been small objects in containers inside of it let out a cascading sound not unlike the clatter of castanets. 

“Do you know much about the supplement business, Xander?” Ethan asked lightly.

Xander shook the package one last time, then lifted it back into the van. “Well. For while I was selling those healthy type sports bars.”

“Many people find it far easier to take such nutrients in pill form,” Ethan said. 

“Yeah,” Xander leaned his back against the van and shoved his hands in his pockets. “And hey, no chalky aftertaste.”

“Quite. Well, we’re going to deliver a supply of supplements intended for a group of hard-working productive young men.”

“ ‘S’matter?” Xander asked, rubbing at his eyes. “They don’t already have their own supple-- . . . vita -- . . . pills?”

“Oh, they do in fact possess a supply. But the dose they’ve been taking -- well, it’s far too low once you take into account their level of exertion.”

“Right,” Xander agreed, stepping closer to Ethan and peering over his shoulder at the map. Funny, but it looked more like a set of blueprints than a road map. “Gotta keep athletes and other driven people supplied with the stuff to give them the added motivation they need to stay on the go.”

“Spoken like a true professional,” Ethan replied. “And you didn’t keep your job selling the vitamin bars because --”

“Because I ate a bunch of my stock when I was low on groceries,” Xander explained. 

“That’s often the problem when you deal in such products,” Ethan said sympathetically.

“So what now?” Xander asked. “You delivering this stuff from --” he looked up at the warehouse in front of which they were currently parked. “Wherever we are now, to -- where?”

“Near the campus, according to my directions,” Ethan said. 

“So it’s probably a bunch of frat guys taking this stuff,” Xander said, since Ethan didn’t seem inclined to elaborate further. 

“Something like that,” Ethan said before he gestured to the van. “Get in.”

***

When they arrived at their destination they were parked about a half mile from the campus. Xander looked out the passenger window and wondered why his head still felt so fuzzy. “Woods,” he commented on their surrounding landscape.

“Now be a good boy and sit tight,” Ethan said. He gave Xander a tight-lipped smile as he opened his car door.

“Don’t you want help with those boxes of energy pills?” Xander asked.

“Aren’t we helpful,” Ethan said. His voice was low, and the words sounded almost like cooing. “No, dear boy, you just relax -- my clients in this exchange will be removing the merchandise themselves.”

Xander shrugged. “Like you said, easy money.” 

Ethan leaned over towards Xander and when he spoke in a low voice once more Xander obligingly leaned closer. “If you fancy another beer, or anything else to drink, I keep a small supply just below that seat.”

Xander whispered back. “Cool. Strangely, still drunk.” He blinked at Ethan and then grinned widely. “But yeah, okay. Another can’t hurt.”

“I think you’ll find this one to your liking,” Ethan murmured, pulling out a bottle of . . . something, and handing it to Xander. When Xander took an experimental swig and nodded approvingly, Ethan gave him knowing look -- though what there was for Ethan to be all knowing about, Xander had no idea.

Just then there was a rustle, followed by the sounds of muffled voices outside the van. “That would be our friends,” Ethan said. He finished sliding out of his seat and gave Xander one last glance. “I’ll be back shortly. Stay put.”

“ ‘Kay.” Xander scrunched down in his seat, letting his eyelids droop almost-shut. He could hear some funny noises mixed into the conversation outside -- more like barking or growling than actual words -- but then again, he was feeling buzzed and floaty and all kinds of dazed in a good way, so he might have been dreaming it. But then, hey, occasional words did make it into his consciousness: _something something_ supplements, _something something_ soldiers, _something something_ havoc -- but none of it added up to anything substantial when he tried to put the words together, so he stopped tuning in.

“All set,” Ethan announced as he got back into the van. 

“Hey, where’s your map?” Xander asked, pointing to Ethan’s now-empty hands. 

“Ah. My clients took a liking to it. Wanted to know how to navigate the area themselves,” Ethan said. 

“They need blueprints to get the pills to their customers?” Xander asked doubtfully.

“I see you finished your drink,” Ethan said. Xander inclined his head towards him as he spoke -- Ethan’s voice had gotten thicker, syrupy. “What do you say to a bit of celebration?”

Xander stretched and tilted his head to both sides quickly, cracking his neck. “Oh. Celebration? Sure. Uh . . . what’d you have in mind?” 

Somehow the van was moving before he recalled that maybe Ethan should have answered him. He found his eyes were trained on the rush of broken lines on the road disappearing beneath the van, and he kept his attention there as though the safety of the journey depended upon it. 

“I’m so pleased you accepted my offer, Xander,” Ethan said, and his voice sounded so far away this time. And when had they gotten back to -- must be Ethan’s -- motel room?

“Well, yeah, the offer,” Xander said slowly. He looked down and he was already sitting at the edge of the mattress, and Ethan’s hands were fumbling in his lap. “Yeah,” Xander repeated, watching his button fly come undone.

Ethan said something, but what it was Xander couldn’t be certain, especially after the exhalation of his breath went over Xander’s cock. He watched as if from a great distance when his hand came down to curl and tangle in Ethan’s hair. 

But Ethan had said something, or asked something . . . hadn’t he? Instead of asking Ethan what words he had spoken, Xander thrust his hips up with a broken cry. He gasped as he watched Ethan’s head move up and down, slow fast then slow again, felt Ethan’s lips curled into a tight ring around his cock. 

Something -- back at the bar, something about magic that actually makes things happen -- flitted through Xander’s head, but then Ethan’s fingers went exploring, massaging in the hair surrounding his erection, down the seam of his balls, then further back. Xander felt the heaviness of his limbs, the languor of his body permeate every muscle until it seemed his brain was weighed down with it. Tired, he was so tired, from the beer, and the -- whatever else (had there been anything else?) -- but he still managed to pull his legs up, bend them at the knee, and place his soles flat on the mattress. When Ethan’s hand stroked back even further, he raised his backside, trying to help whatever was happening happen more, happen faster. 

Then a fingertip eased inside of him, slick and slow, and Xander worked his hips against the intrusion without thinking. “Good lad,” Ethan murmured just before he flicked his tongue across Xander’s nipple. 

“What are you doing?” He said it, or maybe he just thought it, because the words rang out in his ears at the same time that he heard his own gasp, and he closed his eyes to try to balance his swimming head. 

Proposition -- business -- Ethan’s voice had said the words at some point, but Ethan wasn’t saying those words right now. Because when Xander opened his eyes, he was a million miles away but so close at the same time, biting his lip and moving forward (too fast), and when Ethan’s body came to a halt, sharp hipbones pressed into Xander’s flesh, Xander bit back a cry of pain when he felt a stab that seemed to split his body in two. He heard murmured words, then there was a slide and Ethan moved further in easily. Mouth open, Xander mean to ask what was going on, but instead of words his mouth formed a round O and a low moan came out as he pushed his hips up to meet Ethan pushing in, pulling out. 

Harder, Xander thought, and the word floated through his head like a smattering of black ink on paper, quickly scrawled. Not certain if it was a desire or a description, unsure if it had been said out loud, because Ethan followed the directive, snapped his hips forward, and something bent and fell and clicked together inside his mind. 

Easy money supplements young men handsome easy money campus men dosage use for you easy money easy money easy money.

All wrong, it was wrong, but the pieces of the puzzle flew apart when Ethan twisted his hips and every bridge Xander was building between the moments of that night, every connection between concepts of what Ethan had meant, every synapse firing between fuzzy perceptions and misguided memories snapped, broke, rushed to his groin in a blare of white behind his eyelids. 

“Again,” he called out in a half sob, and Ethan echoed the word, “again,” above him, murmuring, cooing, and thrusting over and over and over. 

* * *

Xander woke with a start and blinked at the unfamiliar room. “Uh . . .” he said uncertainly as he looked down at himself lying on top of a garishly-patterned scratchy bedspread. Wherever he was, he’d fallen asleep in his clothes again, and his jeans were sticking to his legs in that weird sweaty warm way.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” a voice called from another room. From the echo, must have been a bathroom. Then Ethan Rayne came through the doorway.

There was rapid blinking, then Xander remembered . . . drinking? Drinking with Ethan, beer after beer after . . . And right on cue at the recollection of sudsy goodness, his head throbbed, and he groaned miserably.

A smile quirked the edges of Ethan’s lips. “There, there. At your age, give it half a day, and you’ll be right as rain.”

“Great,” Xander muttered. “Rain right. Just what I wanted.” 

Ethan sat on the edge of the bed and touched Xander’s head gently. Xander took a sharp breath as the pain in his head jolted pressure right behind his eyes, and then suddenly dissipated, leaving him with an achy body and all kinds of exhaustion playing through his limbs. “Of course, I couldn’t leave you alone last night when I saw you at that pub,” Ethan said softly. “Who knows what sorts of things would have taken advantage of you in the dark of the night in this charming town. I hope you don’t mind my taking the liberty to see that you slept safely here.”

Xander sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Okay. Weird, but . . . thanks. I think. I generally make it a habit not to get eaten, but I guess I was a little wobbly and, well, drunk out of my skull last night.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” Ethan said with a satisfied smile. “Consider it a return of a favor to an old friend.”

“Giles?” Xander asked, rubbing his palms against his cheeks.

“Why, you of course,” Ethan said, his eyes shining with a joke that Xander just wasn’t getting. Probably the hang-over wasn’t letting the humor signals in right. 

“Yeah, kind of got the idea that Giles and you weren’t so much with the friendship,” Xander said in a tired voice. “I mean, if you were, he’d call you in for fact checking every time he had an unexplained amulet.”

“No amulet is unexplained,” Ethan replied, and Xander blinked at him rapidly.

“Ooookay. That must be wizardly philosophy or something. Because from my point of view, when three demons try to end the world and you forget that you’ve got the amulet-y key that fits their apocalypse-trigger lock to the Hellmouth. . . that leads to unexpected visits to old lockers and holes in former libraries, and . . . and I shouldn’t be talking to you about any of that,” he trailed off, unsure why he felt so disarmed by the flare of interest in Ethan’s expression. 

“It’s lovely to know that old gifts still fit their purpose,” Ethan said simply. “And that distractions still . . . distract.”

Xander struggled to his feet and peered back at Ethan, still sitting on the bed. “Old . . . whatever.” He darted into the bathroom to splash his face with water, vaguely wondering why his lips were so swollen. 

“You were saying?” Ethan asked when he emerged.

Xander shook his head. “No. No way. I’m not saying any more, in case you have some nefarious plan afoot. You won’t get any more from me about those three demons.”

“Wisely decided,” Ethan answered. 

At the door, Xander looked down and examined the carpet. “Um. Thanks? For letting me stay here.”

Ethan glanced down Xander’s tense body, his eyes lingering as they made their sweep up. “Oh, you’re quite welcome.”

“I won’t tell Giles you’re in town,” Xander said suddenly.

“How sweet.” Ethan lay back on the bed, his hands interlaced behind his head. “As a return favor, yes? You really are an extraordinary boy, Alexander.”

“Yeah,” Xander answered uneasily. “Well. Be seeing you. Or not.”

Ethan waved him away and Xander slipped out of the door. He took a breath of the cold early morning air and then frowned. The place where Ethan was staying kind of looked like the rat-infested place where Faith had set up shop before she’d moved over to easy street on the Mayor’s tab. Probably would have wigged him out last night, if he’d realized where he was when Ethan was, surprisingly, un-jerky enough to let him crash there. Good thing he didn’t remember noticing any of it.

But now there were walks to be taken home, jobs to be hunted down, and so Xander stuck his hands in his pockets and trudged back to the basement, wondering briefly how the hell despite all the drinks he’d bought at that bar last night, the wad of money in his pocket had somehow tripled in size.


End file.
